Stop at Nothing (11 page)

“Just peanut M&M's,” he told her. “I should be there in about an hour. Meet me at Mulaney's?”

She hesitated. “I don't know… I feel like I should get back home and deal with everything there, see if I can find something,
anything
, that will lead us to this guy.”

“Abby,” Kyle said, “there's nothing more you can do tonight. We've filed a missing persons report on your brother-in-law. We've brought the Old Man and my brothers in on this. We're meeting Hamilton in the morning to question him. Now you need to take care of
yourself
if you're going to be of use to Emma and Tyler—and that means eating and sleeping from time to time.”

She smiled. “You're one to talk. Last time I checked you
lived
on peanut M&M's, pizza, and coffee.”

“It's a date then,” he said, the word sending a ridiculously girlie flutter through Abby's stomach. “I'll meet you at Mulaney's in an hour.”

* * *

Fielding had driven for a couple of hours and was more than a little irritated when he arrived at the new high-rise office building that belonged to Mr. Smith and discovered the construction site was not nearly as secluded as he normally liked for conducting business. Although the standard chain-link fence surrounded the steel and concrete structure to keep out curious passersby, there was little else in the way of security.

Amateurs.

He grunted as he parked his car a block away and headed back to the construction site, sticking to the shadows as much as possible and keeping his pace casual. As usual, he blended in with the smattering of people who still peppered the sidewalks now that rush hour had ended, their heads down, eyes on the sidewalk.

As instructed, Fielding went around to a gravel lot where a few cars were still parked and found the green Taurus that had been left there and got in. He flipped down the visor and caught the keys as they fell. The car started up with a quiet rumble, and a moment later he was pulling out onto the street and winding along the circuitous, nonsensical route that his employer had insisted upon.

It was completely unnecessary. No one was following him. Fielding would've known. He had almost a sixth sense when it came to shit like that. If someone took notice of him in a crowd, he sensed it in an instant.

Just as he'd felt that Abigail Morrow hadn't been alone earlier.

He'd sensed it the moment he heard the car coming up the gravel path leading to the maintenance shack. But the feeling had been with him even before that. Someone—maybe more than one someone—had been watching the place for at least an hour before she arrived. He'd felt the weight of their gazes on him.

The bitch had brought backup, had broken the one rule he'd set for the exchange. If this one had been personal, he would've been seriously pissed—and that pretty little deputy would've paid for her transgression. But whatever. He should've known that Abby Morrow would have an ace up her sleeve. She was far too clever. But he'd evaded them easily enough, slipping out of the shed long before they'd gotten there and taking up position in another building for when this little game of theirs played out.

Fortunately, Emma Maxwell had proved to be such a compliant captive, totally buying in to the fact that he'd be watching and assessing how well she played by the rules. If she given even the
slightest
hint that he was not in the shed, he would have put a bullet between her eyes. He wished all his playthings could be so good.

He'd waited until the other two men had come and gone, giving them time to be on their merry way before he came out of his hiding spot. There'd be more coming, looking for evidence. They wouldn't find any. They never did. He never lost.

And really, when it came down to it, he had no skin in this game so he could afford to let the other players bend the rules a little. After all, it could be amusing to see how they tried to beat him at his own game. But this time he was only in it for a paycheck. And as soon as he turned over the flash drive to his employer he'd be a million dollars richer. Not a bad payout for a couple days' worth of headache.

He was still wearing a smug grin when he pulled into the parking lot of a boarded-up convenience store that was covered in graffiti and gang tags, the sidewalk cracked and crumbling from years of disuse. He had to admit, his employer had selected the drop location well.

There was a vacant lot on one side, the site of another business at some point, but now only the concrete foundation remained. On the other side had been another business that was now just a burned-out shell. Whether the fire had brought an end to the business or was the result of an arsonist who couldn't resist the empty building, he couldn't tell. And he didn't give two shits. He just wanted his money.

As instructed, he pulled around to the back to park next to a rusted-out dumpster. The moment he got out of the car, something skittered from within the shadows.

Rats.

Charming.

He grunted with disgust. For being a rich asshole who wore ridiculously overpriced suits, Mr. Smith had a surprisingly intimate knowledge of this particularly seedy neighborhood.

Fielding checked his watch, confirming that
he
was right on time. His irritation at being kept waiting made the muscle in his jaw twitch. He was never late. Not ever. That was one of the reasons he had a steady flow of jobs. The arrogant bastards who hired him to do their dirty work knew he could be depended on to be punctual.

Clearly, the same could not be said for his employer.

Twenty minutes later, a silver Lincoln finally pulled into the lot and parked so that its headlights were pointed directly in Fielding's face, briefly blinding him and keeping the driver in shadow as he got out of the car.

“Good evening, Mr. Fielding.”

“Fuck you,” Fielding shot back. “You're late.”

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could see the guy smirking. “I was unavoidably detained.”

Yeah right.

Fielding had seen guys like this before. They'd stabbed so many people in the back to get where they were that they had to be constantly looking over their shoulders. So they pulled shit like this all the time to show the other guy who was still in control. It was a power play of the most transparent variety.

Well, Mr. Smith could think what he wanted. Fielding knew the truth.

“Do you have my money?” he demanded.

“Of course.” The man reached into the car and pulled out what looked like a small briefcase. Then with a casual flick of his wrist, like a million dollars was just pocket change, he tossed the case. It hit the pavement and slid, coming to a stop about midway between him and Fielding.

Fielding reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the flash drive, holding it up pinched between his forefinger and thumb. He made to pitch it toward his employer, but the man held up a hand.

“No need.”

Fielding gaped at the man standing in the shadows. There wasn't much that surprised him. Not really. But he had to admit, this time he was seriously fucking dumbfounded. “You don't want the data?”

Mr. Smith leaned against his car, one hand nonchalantly tucked in his suit pants pocket. “I know what it says. I just didn't want that bitch to share it with anyone.”

Fielding narrowed his eyes. Either the guy was incredibly cunning or incredibly stupid. “You think she didn't make another copy?”

The man chuckled. “Do you think you're the only one I have working for me? While she was dealing with her sister's abduction, I had someone else steal her laptop, server, and a flash drive she foolishly hid in her safe.”

Fielding grunted. “What makes you think she didn't save it to the cloud?”

The man's laughter was so derisive it made Fielding silently seethe with rage. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? “Oh, Mr. Fielding,” Smith drawled, “she wouldn't save it to the cloud. That's not her style.”

“How the hell would you know?” Fielding demanded, curious now.

“Do you think this is the first time I've dealt with something of this nature?” his employer replied. “She's not the first to investigate me. And I've yet to be wrong.”

Now Fielding was just getting pissed. “But—”

“Before you even suggest that perhaps she's already turned over the report,” the man interrupted, “I can assure you she hasn't. I had another acquaintance of mine hack into her email to keep an eye on things the moment I learned of her investigation. There's been no correspondence about the investigation.”

Fielding suddenly found himself rooting for the pretty little deputy, hoping like hell she would take down this asshole. Not because he gave a damn about any of the bullshit going on—he just wanted this prick to get bitch slapped. “I've read all about her,” he reminded his employer. “She's good. She can probably recreate those reports in no time if she gets the source information from her client.”

The man opened his car door. “Yes, well, that would take a little time, I imagine. And time is something Deputy Morrow is lacking.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Fielding demanded.

Fielding could see the asshole's smug smirk even in shadow. “Come now, Fielding. You're a professional. You know there's really only one way to keep secrets secret.”

He knew all too well. Which was the reason he never asked for real names or many details when dealing with his employers. They were all “Mr. Smith” or “Mr. Jones” or some other alias that kept them unknown to him. The less he knew about them, the less likely he was to catch a bullet for his trouble. Hell, he probably shouldn't have asked as many questions as he just did. But his employer clearly wasn't concerned about getting caught.

Fielding watched the guy pull away as casually as he'd arrived, as if he wasn't plotting to commit murder. His own hands weren't without stain. God knows he'd done his fair share of killing. But not one of his marks hadn't deserved it. Abby Morrow was different. Her only crime was being good at her job. It was a damned shame.

He shook his head as he strolled to where the briefcase containing his money lay on the ground. He snatched it up but waited until he was back in the car to open the case and peer inside. A smile curved his lips as he took in the neatly stacked bundles of bills, picked one up, and fanned through it. He grabbed another couple of stacks and flipped through them as well, then counted the number of stacks, making sure his employer had held up his end of the bargain.

A million dollars, just as he'd agreed.

As Fielding pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to his hotel, he couldn't help but wonder how the asshole planned to off Abby Morrow. Would it be something bold, something to warn away any future attempts by the person or organization or whoever the hell had been investigating him?

He almost laughed.
Yeah right.
That slimy cocksucker didn't have the balls to go head-to-head with anyone. That's why he paid people like Fielding to do it for him. Nah, he figured it would probably look like an accident. Or maybe a random act of violence, a senseless shooting by some sick bastard who “the system” had failed.

He actually felt sorry for Deputy Morrow. It didn't seem fair, even to him, that someone that ball-rocking gorgeous should bite it without even having a fighting chance. Where was the sport in that? She should at least have the
option
of trying to save her own sweet ass.

Fielding grinned as a thought suddenly came to him. He didn't have another job scheduled for a few days. Maybe he'd stick around and see how this thing played out. Or, maybe, since he was feeling so generous with a million dollars sitting on the seat next to him, he'd even see what he could do to even those odds.

When Kyle entered Mulaney's, he finally felt like he was home. The county's oldest pub had been the favorite watering hole for the Dawsons since Pete Mulaney, the original owner and proprietor, had offered a young lawman named Silas Dawson a place to stay even though the man had just come to town and hadn't a penny to his name. So the Dawsons still seemed to feel it was their duty to keep an eye on the place in repayment for the kindness.

At least, you'd think that was the case, given how often the local population of Dawsons and all their cousins and friends hung out at the pub after work on any given day. And apparently today was no exception.

His brothers sat around a table in the center of the room, their smiles and laughter filling his chest with warmth. Sadie sat next to Joe, leaning into his embrace, his arm draped around her, hugging her close. And next to Sadie was Abby, her cheeks flushed from laughing, her eyes bright and sparkling with a happiness he hadn't seen since he'd returned.

The sight of her now—beautiful and glowing, the stress and concern that had plagued her having at least temporarily vanished—made Kyle want to kiss the hell out of her right there in front of God and everybody. But before he could take a single step, she happened to glance up and see him standing near the door. Her smile grew, alighting in her eyes. In an instant, she was on her feet and coming toward him.

God, she was striking—lean and athletic and sexy as hell without even realizing it, without even trying. With each step she took, his cock got harder. He swallowed and shifted a little, trying to covertly adjust himself, but then she was within inches of him, her smile beaming, eyes dancing with amusement.

“I didn't think you'd ever get here,” she said. “I was about to send out a search party.”

He winked at her, trying to hide the fact that his balls were throbbing. “Counting the seconds until I returned?”

She rolled her eyes, but he didn't miss the way her cheeks flushed. “You wish.”

“Let me say hey to my brothers, and we'll go grab a table,” he said, chuckling.

She grimaced a little. “Sadie and Joe asked if they could join us, and then Tom and Gabe showed up… And I think Elle McCoy is coming as well. I hope that's okay.”

What the hell was he supposed to say? That the last thing he wanted to do was hang out with his family and friends? That if he didn't get her alone soon and find out where things stood between them, his balls would be a permanent shade of blue?

So he shrugged. “Yeah, of course.”

“You two gonna go bump uglies or have a beer?” Gabe called out, apparently already halfway to shit-faced if the volume of his voice was any indication.

Kyle shared a glance with Abby, then gestured for her to take the lead. “I
did
promise you dinner,” he told her. Then as she turned to go, he leaned in and said so that only she could hear, “But dessert's totally your call.”

He felt her stiffen, and her eyes were wide when she cast an uncertain glance his way as if wondering if she'd understood the innuendo correctly. He winked, confirming she had. When her gaze snapped forward again, her cheeks were crimson, drawing a knowing smirk from his brother Joe, who raised his beer slightly in salute, then discreetly turned his attention back to Sadie.

Kyle jerked his chin at the party as they reached the table. “Looks like you guys got a jump on me,” he said, pulling out Abby's chair for her. “What's everyone drinking? The usual—Sam Adams?”

“None for me,” Sadie demurred with forced nonchalance. “Just water.”

Kyle's eyes narrowed, his investigative sixth sense suddenly on alert. From the discreet glance she sent Joe's way, Kyle figured she probably wasn't just abstaining because she was designated driver that night. “Hey, Joey,” he said. “Why don't you help me carry the beers?”

Joe took a swig from his bottle and then dropped a kiss on Sadie's hair before following Kyle to the bar where the current proprietor, Charlotte Mulaney, was tending bar with an efficiency and friendliness that kept business booming. But just in case she had to set friendliness aside to crack some heads, Charlotte kept her great-great-granddad's shillelagh hanging on the wall as a reminder that she wouldn't take any shit.

“Well, as I live and breathe!” Charlotte cried when she saw Kyle approach the bar. She tossed aside her bar towel and opened her arms wide. “Get over here, baby boy!”

Kyle couldn't help grinning as he leaned across the bar top to give her an awkward hug. “Hey, Charlotte. Good to see you again. You haven't changed a bit.”

She slapped playfully at his shoulder, her hazel eyes twinkling. “Liar.”

“Are you kidding me?” Kyle retorted. “You're gorgeous.”

And he wasn't exaggerating. At sixty, Charlotte Mulaney's hair was still as fiery red as it had been when she was eighteen and turning all the boys' heads. It was common knowledge that she'd been the chief rival for Mac Dawson's affections back in the day, until it became clear that Mac was looking for a serene, quiet, sweet sort of woman to marry. And, well, Charlotte Mulaney was about as outspoken and headstrong as they came and wasn't about to change her ways for any man, no matter how much she loved him.

She laughed and winked at Joe. “I think someone's got his beer goggles on early.” Then without missing a beat, she said to Kyle, “When'd you get back to town, honey? Have you seen your daddy yet?”

Kyle cleared his throat. “Yeah, you could say that. I got back a couple days ago. Mac was… Well, you know how he is.”

She sighed. “Mac Dawson is a stubborn ass. But he's a good man, and he loves you. Just remember that.” Then Charlotte's famous grin returned. “So what can I get you boys?”

Kyle returned her grin. “Five Sams and a water.”

Just as Charlotte turned to fill his order, a huge party of college coeds came up to the bar, giggling and chatting, thumbs flying as they texted and then shared whatever was so amusing. Charlotte sent a pleading look his way. “Mind if I go ahead and get these gals taken care of?”

Kyle spread his hands. “Take your time.”

When Charlotte went to help the coeds, Kyle leaned his elbows on the bar top and laced his fingers together, staring ahead at the row of bottles along the back of the bar. “So, when's Sadie due?”

Joe sputtered on the swig of beer he'd just taken and cast a wide-eyed glance at his brother. “How'd you know?”

Kyle gave Joe a wry look. “Seriously? You're asking
me
this? I know you, Joe. And I know Sadie. Plus, she looks…”—he cast an assessing glance over his shoulder—“different. And, don't think I'm a total asshole for noticing, but her boobs look bigger.” He added quickly, “No offense, man.”

“Shit, are you kidding me?” Joe muttered. “They're fucking amazing. I didn't know that happened this early.”

“How far along is she?” Kyle asked.

Joe took another swig of his beer, finishing it off. “Ten weeks. I went to the doctor with her the other day.” He shook his head. “It's incredible. I mean, I love Sadie more than life. I don't even know how to put that kind of love into words. She's everything to me.
Every
thing. But when I heard that tiny heartbeat… I don't know. I feel like nothing in my life meant anything until now. Like nothing I've accomplished even comes close to what Sadie and I have created together.”

Kyle grasped his brother's shoulder and squeezed it before slapping him lightly on the back. “I'm happy for you, big brother. Congratulations.”

Joe ran a hand down his face. “It's crazy. Who thought I'd be the first one of us to be a dad?” The moment the words came out, Joe's expression suddenly looked contrite, and he quickly added, “Shit, man. I'm sorry.”

Kyle frowned at him, wondering why in the hell Joe would feel sorry about anything where Kyle was concerned. “What are you apologizing for?” He chuckled. “I'm not in any hurry to have kids. I'll leave that to you and Sadie. I figured it would be Tom who'd jump on that grenade first, but…”

“Guess he and Carly ran out of time,” Joe finished for him.

Kyle nodded. “Yeah. Guess so. But hey—mazel tov to you and Sadie.”

Joe still looked confused by Kyle's reaction—or lack thereof—but he grinned and rolled his eyes. “We're Catholic, moron.”

“Speaking of that… What's next?” Kyle asked, catching a glimpse of one of the coeds snapping a photo of Gabe with her cell phone and giggling behind her hand when she showed the picture to her friend. “You two getting married?”

“I want to,” Joe admitted, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “We talked about it, but she said she didn't want me to marry her just because she's pregnant and reminded me that it's not 1950. On the other hand, she's worried how the school will react about having an unwed mother on staff. The thing is, I was going to ask her anyway. I've already bought a ring.”

“You tell her that?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah. Well, the part about planning to ask anyway. I haven't told her about the ring. I want to actually propose, make it special for her. I've never pictured any other woman as my wife, Kyle. It's always been Sadie—since we were kids. I don't want to blow this.”

“Don't worry about it,” Kyle assured him. “It'll all work out. You two were meant for each other. I mean, shit—if
you two
can't make it, there's no hope for the rest of us poor bastards.”

Joe chuckled. “Thanks.”

“And you know you can talk to me, right?” Kyle said. “I may be your little brother, but I know a thing or two.” He grinned. “Maybe I can tell you about the birds and the bees, explain how this happened.”

Joe punched his arm. “Asshole,” he said with a laugh. “You don't know
shit
, trust me
.
”

Kyle twitched a little at his brother's cynical tone. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“If you had a clue, you sure as hell wouldn't be here hanging out with
us
tonight,” Joe informed him.

Kyle raised his brows when Joe jerked his chin at Sadie and Abby as the two women chatted and shared a plate of fries. He heaved a sigh. “I don't know, man. I'm not sure where things stand there.”

“Here you go, boys,” Charlotte said, startling them from their thoughts as she set the bottles on the bar. “And this is the last one for Gabe. I'm officially cutting him off. He's been hitting it hard since he walked in tonight. Something weighing on him?”

Joe slid a glance his way, making Kyle wonder if he was going to mention the incident at the hospital, but instead he said, “One of the cases he's been working almost got tossed out. He's taking it pretty hard.”

“That happens sometimes,” Kyle reminded him. “It sucks, but there's nothing we can do about it.”

Joe gave him a sad smile. “Yeah, but usually it's because of some technicality or lack of evidence. This one's all on him.”

Kyle immediately thought of the comment Elle had made about Gabe's inability to keep it in his pants and cursed under his breath. Then muttered, “Damn it, Gabe.”

“And you know the real pisser?” Joe continued. “It's the Chris Andrews case.”

Kyle's stomach dropped. He didn't need Joe to tell him who Chris Andrews was. Gabe and Chris had been best friends growing up, inseparable. Until an anticop fanatic walked into the diner where Gabe and Chris had been eating lunch and opened fire, killing Gabe's closest friend.

“Ah, shit,” Kyle said. “No wonder he's in full-on self-destruct mode.”

“He'll be alright,” Charlotte assured them. “He's a Dawson. You boys always come through in the end.” When Kyle gave her a doubtful look, she gave him a cockeyed grin. “I seem to recall having a number of conversations just like this one with your daddy over the years. Still do.”

Kyle's brows shot up, and not for the first time, he wondered about the nature of Mac's relationship to Charlotte. He had no doubts that his dad was always faithful to his wife during their marriage, but he also knew that Mac had spent a lot of time at this bar over the years, especially after their mother had died. And apparently he still did.

But before Kyle could ask any probing questions, Charlotte winked and jerked her head toward the tables behind them. “Now you better get back to those lovely ladies of yours, boys.” She leaned across the bar and patted Kyle's cheek affectionately. “And don't you be a stranger, honey.”

As soon as Charlotte rushed off to tend to another patron, Joe gathered up his share of the drinks, then pegged Kyle with a meaningful glance. “Charlotte's right about one thing,” he said. When Kyle frowned in confusion, Joe continued, “We Dawsons are far too proud and stubborn for our own good. I waited so long to tell Sadie how I felt about her that I almost died before I had the chance. What we do, Kyle, going out there every day and putting our lives on the line…there's no guarantee any of us are coming home when the day's over. If you're still in love with Abby, tell her.”

* * *

Abby was trying her damnedest to enjoy her dinner and pay attention to the chatter at the table. Elle McCoy had arrived, fresh from convicting one of the biggest meth dealers in the state and even livelier than usual. But Abby didn't miss Elle's occasional irritated glances toward where Gabe was flirting mercilessly with a group of giggly coeds or Gabe's heated gaze as he looked at Elle when he thought no one else was paying attention. The two always seemed to be at odds, but Abby would've had to be an idiot not to sense the sexual tension between them when they were in the same room. Too bad they were both too stubborn to admit how they felt for each other.

And, God, she could certainly relate.

Kyle had been strangely withdrawn and distracted since he and Joe returned from the bar, barely sparing her a glance as he split his attention between his brothers and Sadie and the bartender, Charlotte. If she didn't know better, Abby would think he was purposely avoiding talking with her. And yet when he'd arrived, he'd flirted with her, implying that their night could end in a hot, sweaty tangle if she was onboard. And the more she sat there, witnessing the heated looks that passed between Joe and Sadie, the more she began to ache for Kyle's touch.